


It's In the Way You Say It

by jatty



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Revenge Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1661369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Frank moves out of his apartment, Mikey is plagued with an unending loneliness. To rid himself of the feeling, he talks himself into going to Neon Heights, a gay club in the city. Once there he meets an awkward Goth not unlike himself named Gordon--pronounced Gor-Don. </p><p>(In other words, and indulgent fic detailing an encounter between Mikey Way and the character Gor-Don from the Sprint Framily "Meet the Frobinsons" commercial series. If you've not seen the commercial, you should really check it out. Link inside.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In the Way You Say It

**Author's Note:**

> So after being bombarded with these commercials, I could no longer restrain the urge to write a fic about Mikey and this Gordon character. He's just too quirky to ignore! (Check out the original commercial here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9UPoZDstHM ) I am not trying to sell anyone on Sprint cellphone service, I'm just infatuated with the look of this Gor-Don character and really want an outlet to dabble with his character.

Mikey tried not to let the loneliness get to him when Frank said he was moving out. They’d shared a small apartment that they got to visit every now and then while on tour, but now that there was a seasonal break before the next tour began, Frank said he wanted to go live with Gerard instead. At first Mikey had been excited at the prospect of having his own place and not having to share with Frank who had always been just a little too much energy for the laid-back Mikey to handle. However, the peace and quiet soon became seclusion and depression.

The only thing Mikey had left to take pride in in his life was the big shiny record hanging on his living room wall—the prize for making _Three Cheers_ into a good album. Most of the time, Mikey just stared at the trophy in silence, thinking about the crowds and the people.

People said they loved him. People made t-shirts declaring their need to be with him. The fans made it feel like he was worth something, but as soon as the tour ended the fans disappeared from his life and all he had was loneliness. Sure the band got together to practice and work on some new songs for the next tour, but it wasn’t the same. It was like visiting family members and working… There was little to no pleasure in it at all.

It was different on tour—it was different before Gerard got clean. Before, Mikey could call Gerard and invite him to go to a bar to drink. Now, that invitation would be like a slap in Gerard’s face. If Mikey wanted to go out, he was going to have to go alone and there was nothing more depressing than going to a bar and sitting by himself.

Especially since there was a fifty-fifty chance he’d get harassed by the punks of Jersey for the way he dressed and how skinny and feeble he looked.

Though there was _one_ sort of place Mikey knew he’d be accepted. It was a place he never really envisioned himself going to, but he knew that if he wanted to keep himself alive he’d have to swallow his pride and work up the courage to drive to the city. If he stayed alone much longer, he’d start the next leg of his depression—forgetting to eat, forgetting to get out of bed, forgetting to drink anything other than beer and spiked tea. 

That wasn’t where he wanted to be, so on a particularly chilly Thursday night, Mikey drove for over an hour to reach the city and relied on poorly jotted down directions to a place called “Neon Heights.” According to the people Mikey had talked to, it was a low-brow gay bar with a party every night. Mikey doubted he’d be recognized by anyone even if he went to one of the post popular gay clubs in the city, but he wanted to avoid any kind of press. It wasn’t that he was exactly in or out of the closet—he just liked his privacy.

There was no line to get into Neon Heights, but an overly affectionate bouncer at the front door made a point to tell Mikey—after frisking him in search of weapons—that he was “certainly a looker” and that if there had been a line, he would’ve let Mikey cut in front of everyone else. Then the bouncer said something that probably changed the night for the better, even though Mikey didn’t know it at the time.

“I’d give you my number on your way out when you leave, but I know the guy you came here for,” the bouncer said, a little lisp in his voice.

“What guy?” Mikey asked, not sure if he was being stereotyped or if someone said they were looking for a guy like him.

“The guy with the Mohawk—He asked me if his friend had come in yet and told me he was looking for a guy who had brown hair and glasses.”

The bouncer said nothing else and let Mikey inside, still wondering who the guy was and why the bouncer would just assume that any guy with brown hair and glasses was the one the other guy was looking for. 

Mikey made his way through the club, popping the collar of his coat a little higher even though it was hotter than hell and he felt like he was about to burst into flames. He peered around at the selection of men—men in spandex dancing on men in leather who grabbed at men in mesh tops and blue jeans. Some of them looked like the kind of guys Mikey would take to a nearby hotel, but none looked like the type he’d want to get close to. 

As he ordered himself a drink, allowing the bartender to talk him into a cocktail instead of a bottle of beer. Then, just like the bouncer, the bartender mentioned a guy who was looking for him.

“He’s been hiding in the back corner all night,” the bartender said. “He said he didn’t think you were going to come.”

“All night, huh?” Mikey said, looking left and right at the crowd around him, unable to even see a back corner because of all the men. 

“Yeah, he came in at seven. We told him it was early, but he’s been waiting. Why did you keep him waiting so long?” The bartender poured Mikey a second cocktail that he didn’t order—a flaming orange drink with a lemon slice on the side—and pointed to the far right corner of the bar. “This one’s on the house. Take it to the poor guy.”

On any other night, Mikey would have just said he had no idea who the bartender or the bouncer were talking about, but when they both seemed to think that this guy was looking for him his interest was piqued. Especially since the guy had been obviously stood up and was going to be as lonely and dejected as Mikey was.

So Mikey took his free cocktail and made his way through the throng of scantily clad men who were dancing somewhat in time to the beat of the pop song blasting over the speakers. In the corner, where the lights didn’t quite reach, stood a tall, skinny guy with a medium-sized (albeit flopped over) Mohawk. He had a coat covered in zippers and buckles, glasses with large lenses and large frames, combat boots, and skinny jeans. It was no wonder everyone thought Mikey had come to see him. Their style was almost the same, except Mikey considered himself more punk while this pale guy with black lipstick was obviously more on the gothic side. 

He looked out of place in Neon Heights. Perhaps that was why Mikey was really able to work up the courage to talk to him. He never really made the first move a lot and often shied away even when other men tried talking to him. Tonight, however, the loneliness was getting the best of him and this guy looked like he was about to sink down to the floor and cry. 

“Hey,” Mikey said, effectively making the guy jump and nearly drop his empty beer bottle. “Everybody seems to think I’m supposed to come talk to you, so I brought you a drink.”

The guy stared at Mikey and then quickly looked around at the rest of the men in the club. Once he realized he wasn’t about to be ganged up on, he looked Mikey up and down and then finally reached out for the drink.

“Thanks,” he said. His voice could barely be heard over the blasting speakers, but once he took a sip of the drink, all of his focus was on Mikey. It was an intense look—the same kind of look Gerard would get when fans swarmed him. Whoever this guy was, he liked attention.

“I’m Mikey.”

“My name’s Gordon,” the guy said, pronouncing it Gor-Don. He took another sip of the cocktail and looked up at Mikey with big, doe-like eyes. He had on more makeup than Gerard ever wore at shows. His eyes were covered in liner, almost to the point where it looked like he’d been punched. He had on black nail polish, too. Everything about Gor-Don screamed diva—the sort of guy Mikey did his best to avoid. One drama queen in his life was enough, but for some reason, Gor-Don didn’t seem so bad.

“I noticed you’re not wearing spandex,” Mikey said, really at a loss for how to start conversations. Twelve years of schooling and he’d never really learned how to talk to people. Working in a book store taught him how to sell things to people, but he wasn’t really in the business of selling himself. 

“Yeah,” Gordon said, looking down at his outfit as if he forgot what he was wearing. “I don’t really fit in here. My roommate told me to come here and he said we’d have drinks and a good time, but…I don’t think he’s coming.”

“Your roommate, hu?” Mikey asked. He wanted companionship, but he wasn’t going to walk into someone else’s complicated relationship.

“Yeah… He said he was going to help me meet people. I guess he thought he’d try the sink or swim method and left me here alone.”

“How long have you known your roommate?” Mikey asked, trying to figure out whether the roommate was a roommate or a lover. If he were just looking for a hook-up it wouldn’t matter, but hook-ups had a weird way of making loneliness just that much more painful.

“Since the start of the semester. We go to college together. He’s studying Engineering or something…” So Gor-Don was just a college kid. His roommate probably brought him here to prank him. Now Mikey had to wonder if the kid was even gay or if he was in here by mistake. He really hoped the guy with the sleepy voice wasn’t dumb enough to be straight and stay in a gay bar all night.

“What do you study?” Mikey asked. 

“I study art and design,” Gordon said, nodding and looking at Mikey curiously. It was like he expected Mikey to realize that he was _obviously_ an art student. “And a little bit of broadcast journalism.”

“That’s cool… You know this is a gay club, right?” Mikey asked, just to clear anything up before he got his hopes up that this doe-eyed guy was actually both lonely and interested.

“Yeah, that was why Kyle told me to come here. He said I needed to meet some other guys besides Darren.”

“Who’s Darren?” Mikey asked.

“My ex,” Gordon said, sighing and finishing off the cocktail Mikey gave him. “This drink was really good. You should get one for yourself.”

“I don’t really like mixed drinks,” Mikey said, drinking a tiny bit of his own cocktail. It was too sweet. He really disliked sweet drinks. 

“Oh…” Gordon lowered his head as if he’d been yelled at and twirled his cocktail glass around in his hands.

“Do you want another drink? I’ll buy you one,” Mikey said. Immediately, Gordon’s mood picked up and he nodded, his floppy Mohawk bobbing with his movements. 

“Definitely,” Gordon said, his black-greased lips curling into a smile. So Mikey bought him another drink, then a third one, then a beer all while listening to stories about this pushover named Kyle and his friends. Gordon talked about his late-night radio show on campus and how he was hoping to get back stage access during the “upcoming rock tour.”

Mikey asked Gordon about the music he listened to and, of the band names he tossed around, My Chem was one of them. He acted like he didn’t recognize Mikey though. To him, My Chemical Romance was just a faceless sound coming through speakers. It was nice. Mikey was able to probe him for questions about what he liked about the band without dealing with a fangasm, too. 

Before Mikey knew it, Gordon was plastered drunk and couldn’t tell Mikey where his dorm was or his house or apartment. He just kept babbling about how he needed a new idea for his radio show. 

He probably did have another choice, but Mikey liked to think he had no choice but to take Gordon home with him. So that’s what he did—he pried Gordon off the bar and dragged him out the door of the bar, past the bouncer who winked at him, and pushed him into the back of his car.

Though he knew he should get in the front seat and drive Gordon to the safety of his couch, Mikey climbed into the backseat with him. Gordon stared at him—silent for once—and opened and closed his black stained lips like a fish struggling to breathe. He looked scared and his hands were shaking. Mikey couldn’t tell if it was the booze or fright that made him tremble. 

“Come here,” Mikey said, reaching to put his hand on the back of Gordon’s neck, wanting to draw him nearer. Gordon flinched and tried to back away, but Mikey shushed him. He placed his hand gently onto the sweaty nape of Gordon’s neck, feeling the cold strands of hair under his fingers, and slowly leaned in. Once Gordon realized he wasn’t in any danger, he nodded slightly and parted his lips. 

Mikey kissed him softly and pulled back, letting Gordon relax a moment before kissing him again with a little more zeal. Gordon kissed back, but shied away again when Mikey traced his bottom lip with his tongue. 

“It’s okay,” Mikey said, running his tongue along his bottom row of teeth in an attempt to get the greasy feel of Gordon’s black lipstick off his tongue. 

Gordon started moving his lips as if to speak again, but no sounds came so Mikey just leaned in for more. He didn’t care that Gordon was drunk—until he said no, until Gordon asked him to stop, Mikey was going to take it all the way. 

Mikey scooted closer to Gordon on the back seat and kissed him a harder. He gripped the back of Gordon’s neck a little harder and placed his other hand on Gordon’s knee, sliding it higher and higher even when Gordon gripped at it and tried to push it away. Mikey nipped at Gordon’s lip until finally, _finally_ Gordon ran his tongue alongside Mikey’s. 

With a little push, Mikey had Gordon pressed against the car door and slid his hands down Gordon’s sides. He paused to unzip Gordon’s jacket and slid his hands underneath the damp fabric of Gordon’s dark t-shirt in order to feel the skin of his stomach and hips. Mikey pulled Gordon’s coat back off his shoulders and pushed them down, unintentionally causing Gordon to lose his balance and fall back against the car door, smacking his head on the glass of the window. 

Gordon gasped in pain and struggled to get his arm free of his coat in order to rub the back of his head. 

“You okay?” Mikey asked, kissing Gordon’s cheek and reaching around to rub Gordon’s skull. 

“That hurt,” Gordon slurred, his voice as sleepy and mellow as ever. 

“It’s okay—let me take care of it,” Mikey whispered, kissing Gordon’s ear before nipping it gently. Gordon sighed and pressed against Mikey’s chest as if trying to get him away. Mikey chose to ignore it and merely grabbed one of Gordon’s hands, pinning it against the back of the seat. Gordon started squirming and Mikey nipped at his neck and throat before attaching his lips to Gordon’s pulse and sucking hard. 

Gordon moaned softly and his hips involuntarily bucked up from the seat. Mikey chuckled and moved from Gordon’s neck to hip mouth, kissing him again and smearing that greasy, black lipstick. 

“I—I don’t… I don’t know,” Gordon moaned, suddenly jerking back and smacking his head into the window again.

“It’s okay,” Mikey said, cooing and kissing Gordon’s cheek again. “You need to be careful. You’re going to knock yourself out.” 

“I don’t know,” Gordon moaned once again, trying to squirm back further against the door. “I didn’t bring anything, and I’m really drunk—”

“Shh,” Mikey cooed, kissing Gordon again and refusing to back down when Gordon pushed at his chest. “It’ll be fine. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Gordon groaned and tossed his head back and forth, knocking his Mohawk aside and slumping back against the car door. Taking that as all the permission he needed, Mikey grabbed for the buckle of Gordon’s jeans and quickly undid the clasps. It was dark in the car, but there was still enough light to see every inch of skin Mikey exposed as he pulled open Gordon’s tight, black jeans. 

When he pulled out Gordon’s semi-hard cock, Gordon whimpered and pressed his face into the seat of the car—either embarrassed or afraid. Mikey pressed a few gentle kisses onto Gordon’s cheeks and neck before sliding back on the seat and lowering his head. He waited until Gordon looked at him with those big, brown eyes before ducking down and sucking Gordon’s cock into his mouth. 

Once he felt the wet heat, Gordon gasped. His hips jerked up and within seconds he was fully hard and squirming in the seat. All of the fight Gordon had had dissipated, and instead of pushing against Mikey’s chest to get him away, Gordon was pushing his hips upwards into Mikey’s face. 

Mikey bobbed his head quickly, dragging his tongue along the bulging vein on the underside of Gordon’s cock and pressing the tip of his tongue into the leaking slit. When he finally had Gordon whimpering, Mikey pulled off and yanked Gordon’s jeans down to his knees and quickly flipped him over. 

Gordon gasped and, once again, smacked his head into the car window. Mikey kissed the back of his head, even though he’d struck his forehead, but gave Gordon no more attention as he undid his own jeans and shoved them down his knees after pulling a condom and a small packet of lube out of his pocket. 

Mikey gave himself a few encouraging strokes before tearing open the condom wrapped and rolling the condom down the length of his cock. Gordon was shaking by the time Mikey opened the packet of lube. He’d originally brought the packet he’d gotten as a sample at the “adult store” because he thought it would be more convenient than carrying around a bottle. However, when he pulled open the packet it immediately started spilling and Mikey groaned as he quickly tried to catch the oozing streams with his finger. He slicked himself up with the full contents of the packet. Mikey worked some of the lube onto his fingers and slowly leaned forward. 

Gordon winced and his entire body went stiff when Mikey pressed a finger inside. Mikey gave Gordon time to adjust before slowly moving it in and out. He added a second finger when Gordon finally relaxed and began scissoring them, wishing there was a little more light so he could watch as Gordon’s body opened up for him. 

After a few more minutes of prep, Mikey pulled out his fingers and lined himself up. He lined himself up and pushed in slowly, pausing every now and then when Gordon’s muscles would tense. 

When he finally had Gordon moaning and panting, Mikey pressed in all of the way and pulled back out quickly. As he pushed in the second time, Gordon let out a low whine and grabbed the door handle, almost causing the door to open. It almost sounded pained, and Mikey ran his hands down Gordon’s sides in a soothing gesture. 

“Are you okay?” Mikey asked, not wanting to hurt Gordon or make him feel like he was being attacked. Yes, Gordon was too drunk to actually give consent, but if he started to resist, Mikey wouldn’t keep going. He was insistent, but not a rapist.

“Not… _Oh…_ ” Gordon let out a shaky moan and let his head drop down onto the seat.

“Not what?” Mikey asked, pulling out to the tip slowly.

Gordon mumbled something in response, but it was lost in the seat cushion. Mikey kissed the back of Gordon’s neck and did his best to keep his hips from bucking into the tight heat around him. He was tempted to ignore Gordon’s words, but “not” sounded a lot like “no.”

“Not what, Gordon?” Mikey asked again.

“Keep…going,” Gordon moaned, gasping when he finally turned his head away from the seat to get air. Mikey felt his stomach drop.

“ _Don’t_ keep going?” Mikey asked, more than a little disheartened. 

“No—Keep going!” Gordon called, pulling himself back up and turning his head in an attempt to capture Mikey in a kiss. Mikey smiled and pressed in the rest of the way and kissed Gordon sloppily on the mouth, tasting nothing more than that cheap, greasy lipstick. 

Mikey tried angling his thrust, seeking out that one sweet spot that would push Gordon past the point of no return. Each time he missed, Gordon grunted and gripped at the seat with his free hand. He’d wrapped his other hand around his leaking cock and was stroking it quickly, using his own precum as lube. 

When Mikey finally struck Gordon’s prostate, the scrawny Goth moaned loudly and slammed his fist into the car door in his ecstasy. Gordon’s voice became high-pitched and shrill, whining with each and every bit of pressure against his prostate. Before long, his muscles started to spasm, clenching down as Mikey pounded into him. 

Gordon’s moans began to sound more and more frustrated as he teetered on the edge of climax—almost, _almost_ too drunk to reach his release. When Gordon let out a sound like a sob, Mikey quickly reached around, knocking Gordon’s hand out of the way, and began to pump him quickly. Gordon bucked into the touch and was choking out noises of pleasure as his body clamped down on Mikey’s throbbing cock. 

Mikey came first, feeling the heat pool in his gut before the jolt of the long overdue pleasure whited out his vision. Gordon shook underneath him, going back to stroking himself when Mikey’s hand fell still. When he still couldn’t get himself off, Mikey pulled out and flipped Gordon back onto his back. He ducked down between Gordon’s legs and began to lap at the leaking head of Gordon’s cock. 

Gordon, apparently not knowing what else to do, fisting his hands in his own hair and started groaning. His makeup was smeared all over his face, streaking pale white with dark splotches of black like bruises. He’d never looked so beautiful as he did then—his lips glistening with spit in the dim streetlamp light, his glasses askew, his eyes fluttering…

Mikey took Gordon as far into his mouth as he could, deep throating him and keeping a firm hand near the base of Gordon’s cock, stroking in time with the bobbing of his head. Every now and then, Mikey would let the sensitive flesh of Gordon’s aching cock slide against his teeth, just to hear the falter in Gordon’s breaths. 

When Mikey began to cup and fondle Gordon’s balls, Gordon lost himself in the pleasure and cried out with one of the most beautiful sounds Mikey had ever heard. Gordon came into Mikey’s mouth, his cry of pleasure turning into a sob-like sound before his body stilled. 

After pulling up his jeans, Mikey opened the car door a crack to spit out onto the pavement and dropped the condom outside as well. He didn’t want the souvenir in his car and he was too lazy to find a trash can. When he looked down at Gordon, the man had gone still—barely even breathing with goose bumps covering every inch of his exposed skin.

Mikey leaned down and kissed Gordon on the side of the mouth but received no response. Gordon’s eyes were closed and his breaths were too shallow and too even.

“Hey—Hey, are you awake?” Mikey tried shaking Gordon’s shoulder, but the other man stayed still. “Gordon?” Still, the other man did not reply. “Shit.”

Mikey sat back on his knees and looked at Gordon’s completely inebriated, unconscious body. He couldn’t just leave Gordon in the parking lot, but he was afraid if he took him home that Gordon would wake up with no memory of what happened. Or perhaps he’d wake up in Mikey’s house and rob the place. 

He didn’t have any track marks on his arms, and he didn’t look like a junkie. But Mikey didn’t know anything about Gordon besides his status as a college student and his preference for sweet drinks. 

It wasn’t possible for Mikey to just leave him outside and he knew Gordon wasn’t in any state to tell him where he lived. So Mikey crawled into the front seat and started the car. He turned on the heat and wiped the steam off the window the best he could, and waited for the rest to clear with the defrosters going before driving off. 

Even after the hour long drive back to Jersey, Gordon was still unconscious in the backseat when Mikey got home. After so many years of taking care of Gerard, Mikey wasn’t unused to handling drunks. He climbed into the backseat and tried waking Gordon once more. Even if he was still half asleep, he would be easier to move. Mikey didn’t think he could carry him, but he would if he had to. It was cold out and he didn’t want Gordon to get sick from sleeping in a car all night when there was a perfectly good bed inside.

With a few gentle taps on the cheek, Gordon’s eyes fluttered open and he drunkenly started sitting up.

“Where am I?” He asked, fixing his glasses and gasping as if terrified.

“You blacked out. I took you home because you couldn’t tell me where you lived,” Mikey said calmly, reaching out to stroke Gordon’s cheek to keep him calm. He could tell that Gordon didn’t recognize him at first, but then the fatigue took over and Gordon no longer cared who he was with as long as he could lie back down. “Come on,” Mikey said, carefully coaxing Gordon out of the car and onto his feet. He had to help zip up Gordon’s pants, but left his belt undone as he led him into the apartment.

Gordon tried to lie on the couch, but Mikey quickly guided him into the bedroom instead. As soon as the bed was in sight, Gordon sighed happily and fell down against it rather than onto it. He was curled around the foot of the bed, hugging the edge of the mattress because—as Mikey was certain—it was the only thing in the room that wasn’t spinning in Gordon’s mind.

Mikey smiled and sat down on the floor next to Gordon and started untying his shoes for him. Once his boots were off, Mikey pulled Gordon’s belt through the loops and tossed it aside as well. He contemplated taking off Gordon’s pants, but didn’t want him to feel violated if he woke up half naked. 

Instead, he pulled Gordon’s barely conscious form up onto the mattress and rested his head against the pillow.

“I’m going to get you a glass of water,” Mikey said, even though he knew Gordon was long gone and couldn’t hear him. 

After filling the glass of water, Mikey set it on the nightstand and changed into pajamas before crawling into bed beside Gordon. Even though he knew that tomorrow Gordon could wake up and leave before Mikey even opened his eyes, Mikey felt the loneliness in his heart subside. Even if it was just a little bit.

At least tonight, Mikey knew he’d sleep soundly.


End file.
